Chapter 4
David felt foolish as he drove back into the city. The way he was dressed irritated him and when he was near her apartment, he wanted to turn back and change.
Hip-hugging, striped, bell-bottoms and an eight-button white Edwardian jacket just didn't seem to fit into the idea of a dinner with a middle-aged widow. But, he realized, that it was too late to turn back, and besides, who would care what he looked like? Mrs. Walters usually saw him dressed in that fashion, so it wouldn't impress her. The only person it might impress would be her daughter, and it made little difference to David if a fourteen-year-old female liked the way he dressed.
The traffic light turned yellow and he pressed his right foot to the floor to try and beat it before it turned red. He made it and was satisfied with his control of the car. He was usually satisfied with the way the car worked with his handling. He knew exactly how to use the clutch and gas pedal for greater speed. Occasionally he would race other cars on the street and, in most instances, win.
Mrs. Walters' apartment building was one of a cluster of twenty-story buildings all on the lower East Side of Manhattan. There were fifteen buildings, all identical except for numbers, which were usually hidden from view. David arrived at the complex with little difficulty but wasted time trying to find the correct building.
He stopped at the curb and asked a pedestrian for "fourteen." The older gentlemen told him it was around the bend and set off the road. David thanked him and proceeded to follow the instructions.
After he made the turn he found three buildings set off the road.
"Fucking, cock-sucker!" he exclaimed to himself. "How the hell do they make these fucking buildings?"
David knew that one of the three buildings was the correct one, so he would go to each one and try to read the number. He parked the car in a No Parking zone and went to the buildings until he found number fourteen.
Above the entrance was written the number, but it was impossible to see from the street, especially with the light coming from the well-lit lobby making everything black above it.
As he entered the cheaply decorated lobby he noticed the long rows of names of buzzers imbedded into the wall.
He found the one marked "Walters" and pressed. David waited for something to happen, not knowing exactly what. A buzzing sound came from his right and he turned to look at the two large glass doors, from where the noise was coming.
He pushed the horizontal hanging across the door just as the noise stopped. The doors refused to move and he realized that he had to push while it was still buzzing. He pressed her button again and stood ready at the door waiting for the noise.
David jumped and immediately pressed the bar when the sound returned. The door swung open easily and he entered.
The lobby had an odor of old, decaying garbage, somewhat similar to his own apartment building. All apartment buildings, he assumed, smelled the same way. The furnishings in the lobby also reminded him of old garbage, just that it had recently been repainted.
Fake flowers grew from fake dirt and cigarette burns were visible everywhere there was something which would burn.
He followed the elevator sign and passed the mail room. Row upon row of tin boxes were dug into the wall, and each had a single name on it with an apartment number.
The elevator was sitting open when David reached it and he entered. Even the elevator had the strange smell as do all the elevators in lower, middle and middle class apartment houses. The people who lived in these apartments were interested only in lower rents. The esthetic appeal of the building was secondary.
Pieces of fiberglass were torn from the walls of the elevators, so the painters just disregarded the holes and painted into them.
The trip to the ninth floor was slow and tedious, and, because of the lack of numbers over the door, he never knew if he was getting closer or if the elevator had stopped.
Just to make sure the elevator did not go beyond the ninth floor he pressed his finger on the number nine button until the doors opened.
When the doors opened he assumed he was on the ninth floor and followed the arrow directing him to the right side of the floor. Each door was lettered, but not in the correct order, so he was forced to inspect each door closely until he found "G" which belonged to Mrs. Walters.
He pressed the bell in the center of the door and waited for the little slit to open from the inside. A little lever was pushed and an eye peered at David from the inside of the apartment.
The door swung open and there stood Mrs. Walters.
"Hello, David!" she exclaimed.
David nodded and walked in without the expected invitation. Mrs. Walters stepped aside to let him enter and closed the door behind him. He walked into the living room, which was the room in the apartment. Besides the living room, there was just a bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchenette. The major room occupied three-fifths of the apartment with the other three rooms sharing the rest.
"How've you been, David?" she asked, sounding as if she hadn't seen him for months.
"I'm okay," he said noncommittally.
"Vera? Vera? Come in here, please," she called into the bedroom.
From the bedroom walked in a petite young blonde. She was no more than five feet tall and weighed no more than a hundred pounds.
"Well, David, this is Vera, my daughter."
"Hi," Vera said as she put out her hand.
"Hi," David returned as he took the little white hand into his and shook it gently. He reminded himself that she was a very little girl and that he had better be careful not to hurt her hand. Therefore, his hand wiggled like a wet rag.
"Why don't you and Vera get acquainted while I finish getting dressed?"
For only a few minutes David and Vera spoke to each other about trivial things.
Vera was very outgoing and vivacious while David asked and answered questions in the fewest number of words.
She asked what he did for a living, how old he was, what kind of car he had, and so on. David usually repeated her questions, but her answers would turn into long monologues.
The dining room table, which was set up in the living room, had three settings on it. Finally Mrs. Walters appeared with the appetizer of half melons filled with whipped heavy cream.
"Let's get started," she told them.
David and Vera stood up simultaneously and made a very poor couple. David standing well over six feet, big and muscular, and Vera short and thin.
Mrs. Walters put two plates of melon on the table and instructed Vera to go into the kitchen to get the other. After the melon was served there came lamb chops and a salad with Russian dressing. For dessert they had simple eclairs and coffee for David and Mrs. Walters and milk for Vera.
Vera, throughout the entire meal, glanced constantly at the clock over the couch.
"What's the matter?" her mother asked, noticing her daughter's constant interest in the time.
"Mickey's going to come and pick me up to go to the movies."
"I thought you said you were going to stay home tonight with me?"
"I was," Vera explained, "but he called me up this afternoon and asked me out, so I told him okay."
"Well, I don't mind you going out with Mickey to the movies, but I want you home by twelve o'clock. Do you understand?"
She nodded and accepted the terms of the agreement.
All during the meal, whenever David spoke to Mrs. Walters, it was only on a formal basis. Not once did he use her first name, probably because he didn't know what her first name was.
It was only after Vera left that Mrs. Walters and David got onto a first-name basis.
At eight-thirty the doorbell rang. Vera jumped up and grabbed her jacket, which was lying on the couch.
"Good night," he yelled as she opened the door and went out.
Mrs. Walters laughed and said, "Quite a little girl I have there, don't you think?"
"Yep," David agreed. "And she's very pretty for such a young girl. I bet she'll grow up to be just like her mother."
Mrs. Walters blushed at the compliment.
"Well," David said as he stood up, "thank you for the dinner. It was really enjoyable."
Mrs. Walters panicked. "Where are you going, David?" she demanded.
"I figured I'd better be going, Mrs. Walters."
"Don't call me Mrs. Walters, David. Call me Ida. You know that's my name. Now, what's this business about you wanting to go? I thought you would enjoy my company for at least a few more hours.
"Please stay?" she begged.
"Well, okay, but what are we going to do?"
"What kind of music do you like?"
"Me? Well, I guess I like all kinds of music but mostly rock and roll."
"Oh, Darn," she exclaimed pathetically. "I don't have any kind of music like that, but I do have some nice soft-type records. I'll put some on and then we can talk for a little while."
She stood up from the table and went to a portable stereo. Pulling out a handful of albums, she selected a few romantic singers and put them on the spindle.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked.
"Sure, what have you?"
"Scotch, rye, brandy, vermouth. Just name it."
It seemed paradoxical to David that a widow living with only her young daughter should have a complete stock of liquor.
"I'll take a scotch and water, Mrs. Walters."
"Ida," she reminded.
"Ida," he repeated obediently.
She went into the kitchen and within minutes returned with two very large glasses filled with scotch, water, and a few ice cubes. As she handed one glass to David she sat on the couch alongside him.
"How do you like my apartment?" she asked.
David moved his head from side to side and glanced around the room. "Very nice," he commented.
Mrs. Walters gulped her scotch quickly and returned to the kitchen to refill it. When she returned to the living room again, her glass was just half-filled and the color of the liquid was much darker. She had half a glass of straight scotch with just a few ice cubes.
Within minutes she had drunk a good portion of the second drink. She pulled closer to David and whispered to him very softly.
"You know, Davey, I've been alone, without a man for the last six years now and I think I'm going to go crazy if I don't find someone to love me once again."
David pulled away from her and began feeling very uncomfortable in this new situation. He had never expected Mrs. Walters to admit to such a fact.
"Davey," she continued, "what I mean to say is that I've watched you grow up from a little boy, when you first came to work in the office, to a grown man. After working in that office for more than eight years I always wondered what it would be like to go out on a date with you.
"Naturally, I couldn't expect you to ask me out. I'm much older than you. Damn!" she exclaimed. "I must be nearly fifteen years older than you."
"Mrs. Walters..."
"Ida," she interrupted.
"Ida, listen, I'm much too young for you. Besides," he said nervously, "it's getting late and I think that I had better be getting home."
David knew, indirectly, what she wanted from him, and he was determined not to do it. She was more like a friend or mother to him, and it was impossible for him to see himself making love to the woman. As David stood up she pulled on his shirt with a great tug. To avoid tearing the cuff he went with the pull and fell onto the couch again.
"Don't go," she demanded as she gulped the remainder of the scotch. "I'm tired of being alone all the time. I want to stay with you for at least a little while longer. Please, David, do a lonely woman a favor?"
The young man felt sorry for the woman and decided to stay with her for a little bit longer. But no more than an hour.
"All right," he said firmly. "I'll stay, but I don't want to fool around or anything."
"Fool around?" she asked, insulted. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," was all he could say. If he said any more, he knew, he would only end up getting himself in trouble by saying the wrong thing.
"What do you think?" she began angrily. "I was going to rape you or something?"
"No, I just meant that it doesn't seem right for me to be here with an older woman."
"Why?" she demanded. "Is it because I'm ugly? Or maybe because my breasts aren't as firm as they used to be, or because I've dried up to some kind of prune?"
"No," he said apologetically, "as a matter-of-fact, I think you're a very nice-looking woman, as good as any of the younger girls."
"Thank you," she said as she nodded her head. The two drinks, taken in quick succession, were beginning to take their effect and her head was moving much less than under normal control.
"Do you want another drink?" she asked.
He hadn't finished the first one yet and shook his head.
Nevertheless, she pulled the glass from his hand forcefully. His fingers were wrapped around the glass tightly, and when she pulled it away it swung from his hand to hers, causing a small amount of the liquid to fall onto his pants.
He jumped up and wiped the liquid from him, but he knew it was useless to try to clean it away like that.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Walters. "I'm so sorry," she said as she plied the cloth of his pants trying to force the liquid onto her own hand.
He brushed her hand away, brusquely. "Get me a napkin or something," he demanded.
With both glasses in her hand she ventured into the kitchen. In moments she returned with a large dish towel and handed it to David.
He took it from her and tried to get most of the dampness transferred from his pants onto the cloth.
Mrs. Walters, meanwhile, returned to the kitchen. She stood by the sink and, clutching the edge with her hands, swayed for a few seconds until she regained her normal balance.
She emptied the contents of David's glass and filled it to the brim with large and small chunks of ice. Before pouring the fresh liquor into his glass, however, she poured an ounce into her own glass and swallowed it in one gulp.
The harsh liquid burned her throat and her stomach, but she knew the new power would only increase the sensations she was. already experiencing.
As the burning sensation receded from her throat she poured the scotch into David's glass. She watched, fascinated, as the liquid grew around the pieces of ice.
"Remarkable," she told herself, "absolutely remarkable the way they make ice these days."
After she finished speaking she thought over the words she had just said and realized that they made absolutely no sense at all. "It's just scotch," she rationalized to herself.
With one glass in each hand, she tottered into the living room and sat on the couch with a thud.
David expected her to put the glasses down on the coffee table before she sat, but she didn't. He closed his eyes as she fell, waiting for the liquid in the glasses to go flying all over her dress and the couch.
Opening his eyes he found that she was dry, miraculously, he agreed inwardly. He took one glass from her hand but she pulled it away from him.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"This one," she said as she thrust the other glass towards him, "is yours."
He accepted it and wondered what the difference was between the contents of the two glasses. He tipped the glass to his lips! Before it even reached his lips, the odor of the straight scotch told him that this was to be a potent drink. A drink to get him high at the very least if he were to finish it. He tasted it, cautiously, and realized that it was too powerful. Replacing the drink onto the coffee table he sat opposite Mrs. Walters.
"Come," she said as she patted the pillow on her right, "sit next to me. Talk to me like a friend. We're not in the office," she reminded, "and you can feel free to talk to me as an equal."
"An equal?" he exclaimed to himself. "What the fuck made her better than me?" he asked.
"You come and sit next to me!" he demanded. He realized that it was a stupid request. There was no room for anything on the chair and it would be impossible for her to place herself on it with him.
Nevertheless, she stood up and put her drink onto the coffee table. She plopped down, quite ungraciously, on the arm of the chair and forced her body to remain upright, even though gravity was pulling her to the floor.
David pulled away from her so she could straddle the armrest. He was surprised that she did as he requested, and hoped that she would also find it so uncomfortable to sit like that that she would be forced to return to her original seat.
She put her arm around David's broad shoulders and was now able to balance herself quite well.
David froze with her touch as her fingers applied pressure to his left shoulder.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asked as she swayed from side to side, still holding on to his arm.
"Sure, I feel fine," she lied. She felt sick from drinking so much so fast, but there were reasons behind her every action, and she was determined to follow through until her reasons were completed.
"You sure as hell don't look too good," he admitted frankly. "As a matter-of-fact you look drunk. Maybe you should just go to bed and sleep it off."
"Are you coming to bed with me?" she asked with a laugh.
Her words embarrassed him and for a few seconds he couldn't answer. Finally, he was able to mutter a no, but not until she was rubbing the palm of her hand around the top of his left arm.
"I think I'd better leave," he said, slightly frightened at her sudden forwardness.
"I thought you were a man," she said, as she pulled her arm away from him. "You're nothing but a little boy. I want you to make love to me. Treat me like a woman, not like your superior."
"I'm trying to treat you with respect," he said meekly.
Disregarding his words, she made another request. "Kiss me." She bent her head towards him and tried to force her lips onto his.
"Stop, will ya, damn it! You're acting like a little kid."
She pulled away from him and stood up. As she swayed from side to side he grabbed her around the hips and led her to the couch.
He gently placed her onto the couch and let her head rest against the back of the couch.
"Leave me alone," she demanded. Her eyes were closed and everything inside her head twirled around quickly.
"Listen, Mrs. Walters, I don't know what it is you want from me, but we have nothing in common. Maybe I had just better go."
"No!" she exclaimed trying to get herself into an upright sitting position, "Don't go."
"What am I supposed to do here?" he demanded, slightly angry.
"Won't you even give me a little kiss?" she pleaded with him.
"Not until you sober up," he said firmly.
David was sober and realized that there was nothing horribly wrong with kissing her, except that it would be quite different kissing an older woman. And this one wanted him to kiss her.
"That's okay, Mrs. Walter-Ida," he corrected himself.
She continued weeping and he wanted her to stop. He hated it when a woman cried. They always had some strange tendency to cry at any little thing.
David thrust his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief.
"Here," he said as he pressed the handkerchief into her hand. "Wipe your eyes and stop that damn crying."
He was shocked with the sudden change which overcame her just because moisture from her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry," she moaned constantly.
Fucking shit, he thought to himself. If all she wants is a kiss, what the hell? It isn't going to hurt me to wet her lips a little bit.
David realized that he had to force himself to kiss the woman, but he was satisfied in the knowledge that once it was over she would be happy and then he could go home.
From the kitchen came the steady whistle of the water as it boiled and forced steam through the small opening of the spout of the kettle.
"Coffee's ready," David announced. "I'll go get you a cup, and then you'll be okay. What do you want in it?"
"I thank you."
David was surprised at her uncalled for statement. "Thank me? For what?"
"For being so nice to me," she said.
"Sure," he said sarcastically.
He went to the kitchen and poured the boiling water into the cup containing a spoonful of ground coffee. The cup tottered on the saucer as he carried it into the living room and warned her that it was very hot.
She sipped it and pulled her head away quickly. "It's hot," she announced, apparently surprised.
"I just told you it was hot. Shit, don't you listen?"
"I'm sorry."
"And stop being sorry for every damn thing," he almost yelled at her.
"Don't go, David. Please?"
Fucking shit, he thought to himself. If all she wants is a kiss, "Good!" she said happily.
"Drink the coffee."
For the next fifteen minutes she slowly sipped the coffee, occasionally blowing on the top of the cupful to slightly cool it until it was drinkable.
After she finished the coffee she excused herself and went to the bathroom. She walked more steadily now that she had stopped drinking the liquor and that she had drunk the coffee.
David waited impatiently, smoking two cigarettes during the wait, until she returned. Her hair was fixed again, her dress was neater, and her face was freshly scrubbed to clear the dried tears away.
"How do I look now?" she asked as she paraded before him.
"Very nice."
She was smiling, but suddenly her expression changed to one of sorrow. She sat on the couch next to David and put his hard muscular hand between her two delicate hands.
"I made a fool of myself? Didn't I?"
"No, not really. You just had too much to drink, that's all."
"I'm sorry if I did or said anything that may have offended you."
David's anger rose again. She was still sorry and she was still telling him about it. Why didn't she just forget about the while business. "No, really. All you did was drink too much and acted sort of strange."
"Do you still like me?" she asked as if she was a child asking a parent who had just scolded her.
"I still like you," he said patronizingly. "As a matter-of-fact, I like you better when you're sober. You look a hell of a lot prettier now that you're not crying like a baby."
David, as he spoke to Mrs. Walters, knew that he would eventually have to kiss the woman, no matter how much he may have dreaded the fact.
He put his arm around her shoulders to console her and pressed her left shoulder into his rib cage.
"Don't worry," he whispered as he bent his head down and moved his lips towards hers. He moistened his lips with his saliva and waited for her to push him away, but she didn't budge.
She waited expectantly when she saw him coming towards her and as he moistened his lips a charge of excitement passed into her. As she closed her eyes she felt the soft wet lips press against hers. She opened her mouth slightly waiting for his tongue to enter into her mouth. When the tongue didn't arrive as expected he took the initiative and tried forcing her tongue into his mouth.
David accepted the tongue greedily and for many seconds their tongues brushed against each other.
Mrs. Walters was becoming excited by this semi-new experience. The last time she had been kissed was more than seven or maybe eight years ago, before her husband had died. Even when he was alive kissing was just a simple thing between them, usually no more than a peck on the lips for a second and that would be the end of it.
She recalled the number of times they would be in bed and how, whenever he wanted to screw her, there would never be any foreplay. He would just grab her nightgown, pull it above her waist and tell her to spread her legs. Mr. Walters would arouse himself manually before putting it into her and she resented this greatly. She wanted to excite him like a woman should, but he never wanted to be bothered.
David's tongue played with the inside of her mouth, and she pressed her breast against his chest. She rubbed the nipples through the layers of cloth covering her against his chest until he could feel them harden.
She pulled her mouth away from him and moaned, "Make love to me."
David knew what it was she wanted and his hand immediately pressed against the back of her dress, trying to find the zipper. He found it, and, with forefinger and thumb, slowly pulled it all the way down her back.
Mrs. Walters was becoming excited to such a degree that she pulled herself away from him and stood up. She pulled the dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stood, semi-naked, in front of David and demanded that he strip her completely.
David, by now also excited, reached up and placed both hands onto her breasts. She pressed her chest closer into his hands as they piled with the soft flesh through the thick cloth.
"Let's go into the bedroom," he said as he stood up and took her by the hand.
She followed obediently and stepped out of her dress and left it lying on the floor.
In the bedroom, without any assistance from David, she completed stripping herself, and she stood proudly naked before him.
David went berserk with excitement. This was the first time in his life he ever saw a woman completely naked, except, of course, in the magazine, but this was a real live woman who was naked, not just a picture.
His hands flew around her body, clutching her breasts, her ass, her cunt, trying to touch, feel, sense, everything about her.
"Screw me," she whispered.
His fingers found her vagina and pressed against the warm wet fold of skin. Instinctively a finger entered into her cunt and she tightened the muscles of her vagina around the single finger. Slowly, and with pleasure, the finger slipped in and out until she groaned, clutched her legs together, and orgasmed.
David had never seen a female come, and he was surprised at her actions. She seemed very happy about the whole thing, and David wanted her to continue.
The apartment was absolutely still. The only sounds which could be heard were those of Mrs. Walters breathing and the creaking of the bed as David moved his hand up and down.
"Take off your clothes," she demanded.
David, by now, was feeling extremely excited. He was covered with perspiration and his erect cock was hurting as it pressed against his pants.
"I want to see your cock," she demanded.
David, in a semi-daze, stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt just as he heard a clicking sound coming from the living room.
"What's that?" he asked excitedly.
"Oh, shit," Mrs. Walters said, "it must be my daughter."
"What time is it?" he asked as he glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the night table.
"It must be about midnight. That's the time she's supposed to be home."
"What do we do now?" David asked, slightly panicky.
"You go out there and put your jacket on and unlatch the door. I locked the door from the inside, so she won't be able to get in until you let her in."
At that moment the bell rang.
"That's her," she continued. "Now go out there and tell her I'm in the bathroom or something. Just give me enough time to get dressed."
David buttoned his shirt and went into the living room. The coolness of the room, compared to the bedroom, made him shake. He realized that his back was covered with sweat and he put on his jacket. As he walked to the door he ran his fingers through his hair to make it appear at least nearly normal.
When he reached the door he flicked all the switches and flooded the entire room with light. He glanced around nervously as he unlatched the door.
The door clicked and he pulled it open. The doorknob was smooth and cool. It didn't remind him of anything.